That Dirty Dog and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls (4 page)

As Brian crawled across the ground with Keith clinging desperately to his back, bullets whizzing above their heads, Keith whispered, ‘There's something I've got to tell you. My guts are bad, Brian. Really bad. In case I don't make it, you know I've always loved you, don't you?'

‘Not going to cry on me as well, are you?' replied Brian.‘Anyway, you are going to make it. Because I love you too.'

Robert Clark loved his dad heaps.
In fact
, thought Robert,
he's probably the best dad in
the world.

So, when Robert's dad died suddenly in a car accident, Robert wanted to die too.

At the funeral, Robert couldn't stand it. He wanted to race up to the coffin, rip off the lid and scream, ‘Dad, wake up. I love you!'

Somehow, Robert thought there might still be a chance that his dad would come back. That maybe he could bring him back. His mum was always saying how useless doctors were. But what's a kid to do when the adults have given up already?

During the bit in the funeral where there's lots of talking and stuff, the minister said it was a time of great sadness but also a time for happiness. Because the memories of his dad would live on forever. Everyone had to be very strong, he said, because Rob's dad wouldn't want them being sad all the time.

So, when it came time to put the coffin in the hole, little Robert Clark took a deep breath, called on all the strength he could find in his ten-year-old body, and said, ‘Goodbye, Daddy.' He tried very hard not to cry. But he did.

A long, sad, lonely time after the funeral, Robert's mum said they were going to have to live with her brother Dave. That way they'd save money and, since Dave had never married, it would give him some company, too.

Anywhere but Daggy Dave's
, thought Robert.
He's such a loony.

Daggy Dave had two big problems. He never stopped talking. And he thought he was funny. But he wasn't.

His favourite way to get people laughing was to make up silly poems – rude poems, mostly – and when that didn't work, he'd play tricks like putting plastic blowflies in your breakfast or holding his throat and pretending to choke to death.
Four days in a row.

When Rob and his mum arrived, Dave straight away told them three of the worst ‘funny' poems Rob had ever heard, and then talked for three hours and ten minutes about what a hilarious day he'd had.

What would be funny,
thought Robert darkly,
is if Dave really did choke to death.

Finally, Dave showed Robert his new room. And do you know what? Rob felt guilty. Because Dave had done it up for him, just how he had it at home. All his favourite footballers were up on the wall and there was a bag of lollies on his pillow.

And something else. A present. Just about the best present a kid could ask for.

A tiny little puppy.

Robert slept as soundly that night as he had for months, with his puppy in his arms and its sweet, warm breath against his neck. Although Robert missed his dad terribly, life with Dave wasn't as bad as Robert thought. Even though Dave never, ever shut up, and even though he told the same rotten poems a hundred times, at least it was never quiet. Robert hated quiet times because that's when he thought about his dad.

One Saturday morning, Dave said the best way to make life interesting was to start each day differently.
So he tipped his breakfast on his head.
Robert really did laugh at that one. And he even laughed at one of Dave's poems:

There once was a man

from the Rises,

Whose ears were two

different sizes.

One ear was so small

It heard nothing at all,

And the other so big it won prizes.

‘While we're all sitting here having a good time,' said Dave, ‘I might tell you a story.'

Oh no,
thought Robert, his smile disappearing.
Here we go again.

‘Once upon a time,' began Dave, ‘there was a boy called Robert Clark. And Robert Clark's dad had died.'

I don't want to hear this,
thought Robert, putting his head in his hands.

‘Robert and his mum went to live with his wacky uncle,' continued Dave. ‘Now, this uncle really was off the planet, except for one little thing. He knew how to enjoy himself. And knowing how to enjoy yourself means knowing all about death. It's like this, young Robert.Your dad is in heaven. I know that for sure because we all go to heaven.'

‘Even you?' asked Robert, trying to be funny, but then wishing he hadn't.

‘Especially me,' replied Dave. ‘Someone's got to do the jokes. And I'm not talking about religion, either. I'm talking about things fitting together. Making sense. Think about rain. Rain makes things grow, and then the extra rain runs back into rivers and into the sea. The sun heats the sea, which makes a type of steam, which makes clouds, which makes more rain. And so it goes. Perfect. In fact, everything on this earth is perfect. Except for people. People can be cruel to each other. They kill each other and they let people starve. So it makes sense that there must be another place where we're nice to each other. To make it all fit together. And that's where your dad is. Heaven.'

Rob lifted his head. ‘Would he be able to get the footy on TV?' he asked.

‘Of course,' said Dave. ‘I don't know why some people go to heaven early, like your dad.

But there must be a reason, because whoever or whatever made us could have given us skin made out of steel if they'd wanted to.'

Rob thought about that. ‘Maybe Dad went early to build a house for us,' he said.

‘Perhaps,' said Dave. ‘You will see your dad again, but there's no rush. I'm not scared of death – it's a good thing in a way. Can you imagine the
smell
if we all lived to a thousand?'

And for the first time since his dad had died, Robert started to feel better inside.
Really better.
Who would have guessed the reason would be one of Daggy Dave's talks? In fact, Robert even found himself wanting to spend more time with Dave. They started going for walks every day with Sally, Rob's new puppy.

Dave made up useless poems as they walked, of course, but they really did have a laugh together watching Sally. She was a very naughty puppy. Once she did a wee on a grumpy old man's leg, and then did a huge poo on the footpath. But before Robert could pick it up, a really rude skateboarder raced past and ran right over it, and it stuck to his wheel!

Sally sniffed and chewed everything in sight. Even a parking inspector's shoe. Dave was always telling Rob how much he loved their walks, and saying, ‘I wouldn't be dead for quids,' which he explained was just a silly old saying that meant he wouldn't be dead for anything – even lots of money.

Well, life has its twists and turns. Unfortunately, it was only a year later that Dave was run over on the way home after winning lots of money at the horse races. He died instantly.

Now, you'd think that Robert would have been crushed by Dave's death. Brokenhearted. Especially after losing his dear dad only a year and a half before. But this time was different. Of course Robert missed Dave, but he also remembered what Dave had said.

At the funeral, Robert knew Dave would want it to be a happy day, so he asked his mum if he could read a poem. ‘I suppose so,' said his mum. ‘But you'd better let me read it first.'

‘I want it to be a surprise,' said Robert.

‘Well, all right,' said his mum. ‘But remember, funerals are very serious. Don't do anything that Dave wouldn't have wanted you to do.'

‘I won't,' said Robert.

So at the funeral, after the talking bit, the minister asked if anyone would like to say a few words.

‘Yes, I would,' said Robert.

Everyone looked around and thought,
How lovely
.

Robert walked up to the front and said quietly to the minister, ‘I've written a poem but it's pretty long, so you might like to sit down.'

‘Oh, thank you,' said the minister. But he wouldn't have thanked Robert if he'd known what would happen next.

Secretly, before the funeral started, Robert had put a whoopee cushion on the minister's seat. So when the minister sat down, a huge ripper went off underneath him.

Robert had seen people look red and embarrassed before, but never as bad as this. It was one of the best blurters he'd ever heard. The poor minister obviously didn't know whether to pretend nothing had happened or check his seat – which would prove it was him – or just get up and walk out.

Robert knew Dave would be watching from heaven and absolutely loving it.

He leant into the microphone. ‘This is just a short poem, really,' said Robert, ‘about my Uncle Dave, who helped me very much.' Then he started to read.

Poor Daggy Dave,

He ran out of luck.

Won all this money,

Then got hit by a truck.

Jacinta Ronis told lies. All the time. Big, whopper, shameless lies. Sneaky, greasy, slimy lies. Clever, hurtful, evil lies. And got away with them
every time.

I first realised how bad it was during a maths test at school. I was sitting right behind Jacinta and I could see her cheating by looking across at Sylvia Benetta's answers. But Jacinta was also madly scribbling on an extra piece of paper. At first, I couldn't understand why.

After the test, our teacher, Mr Lyons, said it was clear that one of the girls had cheated because their answers were exactly the same.

‘It wasn't me!' said Jacinta. ‘Look, I've written down how I worked everything out.'

Mr Lyons studied her rather messy page of figures closely. ‘I can't make much sense of these,' he said. ‘That's not to say I don't believe you, though. Do you have any back-up work, Sylvia?'

‘No,' said Sylvia. ‘I suppose I found the questions pretty easy so I just wrote the answers straight down.'

‘Easy because you're a filthy cheat,' yelled Jacinta.

‘That's enough!' shouted Mr Lyons.

I knew Sylvia would have found the questions dead simple because she was super brainy. I'd paid her a couple of times with chocolate biscuits to help me with my homework.

But Mr Lyons was new to our school and had no idea. ‘Well, Sylvia,' said Mr Lyons. ‘I think that maybe we need to have a talk after school. With your parents, as well.'